ғᴏʀᴛʜᴡɪᴛʜ;; Curtis +
Instead of staying home and cowering in his room as common sense told him to, Curtis had gone to work, despite it being the middle of the night (and most certainly not his shift). Plenty of people had called in ‘sick,’ though - probably since it was the night of the 4th of July - and there were definitely a few things for him to do. Unfortunately, what the man was doing now was not work; it was a lot less fun than that. Although he’d thrown himself into his duties, they hadn’t been enough to distract him, and had only stifled his growing anxiousness momentarily. When something fell further down the hall, it shattered the fragile barrier he’d manage to set up in his mind, and he gave in.
Without giving a thought as to who might see him, he leaned back against the nearest wall before sliding down to the ground. His breathing was fast, unsteady, nervous - even though the minefields he’d lost part of his hearing to were halfway across the world, he could have sworn he was back in them again.
